Professor Rick
by astranauta
Summary: Rick/Morty. Rick's perspective - When Morty goes off to college, you let him talk you into "using your genius to help people" and teach a few of his classes. You hate your students, they hate you, and Morty says he has a hard time paying attention in class. (Based off of a picture by orangejuicex2 on Tumblr)


A few weeks ago, you finally convinced Morty to get really fucking drunk with you. Not for the first time or anything, but even now that he was in college, a fucking adult, he didn't do anything fun like drink or do collaxion crystals. He always said it had something to do with being in your classes but not learning anything and having to study extra hard? No fun shit. But every once in a while, you could pressure him into doing it.

"Oh, g-geez, Rick! F-Fine!" He had exclaimed, exasperated. It didn't take much, he was kind of a lightweight. And before you knew it, he was drunkenly berating you about something fucking stupid.

"I-I can never pay attention i-in your _hhh_ -fucking class!" He hiccupped, taking another swig from your flask. "I just- I just think about y-you," His hand finding its way to your junk. "A-an' me, o-on the desk," His lips on yours, kissing you sloppily. Was this what it tasted like kissing you?

"Wait a minute, M-Morty," You interrupt him, putting your hand on his chest. "Are you telling me that you. That you have some kind of dirty teacher kink? Is that why you got me to teach classes? That's. That's gross, Morty, That's coercion." You mainly teased him to see the adorable mortification that comes across his face as he tries to convince you otherwise.

"N-No! I just. I just wanted to keep g-getting to hang out with you, Rick!" Despite yourself, you smile, unable to even keep up the charade that you aren't totally into it. "B-But then, I couldn't concentrate…Your tests are really hard, y'know!" Everything Morty is saying is playing directly into your biggest fucking fantasy, and probably the biggest fantasy of _every_ guy, _ever_. Well, the fantasy probably didn't feature their grandson, but the idea was still there.

"Ok, Morty," You'd said, laying back and grabbing his wrist to place his hand back on your bulge. "We can do your. Your little weird fantasy, ok. But listen, you gotta _wear_ something for me, Morty."

So here you are. Many hours after class has ended and you've spent sufficient time being pissed off about the dumb shit your students write as answers on tests, Morty comes into your classroom. He tosses his bag to the side and walks toward your desk, sitting in the chair that was seated opposite yours where students had been coming to argue about their grades and prove how fucking stupid they were.

"Well, hey R-Rick," He was already nervous, a little red in the cheeks. "I-I'm here just like you said. W-What do you have for me?" You'd been beginning to think he'd never ask. Reaching beneath your desk, you pull out the large, black bag and hand it to Morty.

"Put it on, Morty," You urge, but one look inside the bag causes panic, and Morty shoves it away.

"N-No way, Rick! I-I don't k-know what you're up to b-but I know you just wanna make f-fun of me!" Shit. You had worried that the kid wouldn't do it.

"No. No, Morty. Come on now, I need you to put it on, Morty," You stand and move around your desk toward him, putting your hands on his shoulders. "Come on, I'll sit right here, and you can. You can put it on over there." Gently, you nudge him out of the seat and sit down in it yourself. He takes the black bag and moves behind you, outside of your field of vision. You hear him muttering nervously.

"Rick, I-I don't k-kn-know about t-this," You say nothing, waiting for him to undress and redress himself. A few minutes pass, then a few minutes longer than you'd have expected him to take, even with him being a fucking pussy.

He appears suddenly from behind you, circling around to stand just in front of your desk. His face is flushed and his eyes don't meet yours, instead focusing down at the ground in front of him. You finally get to see him in the outfit you picked out for him and your eyes scan up and down his thin body. He has on the thin, white shirt, maroon-coloured tie looped haphazardly around his neck, and the shirt is tucked into that little plaid skirt. That little plaid _fucking_ skirt. It's even shorter than you thought it'd be and you wordlessly motion for him to turn around. He does so and, knowing exactly what you want, bends over slightly onto the desk. He's got the knee-high socks on, and when he bends over, you get a full shot of those little white panties you picked out for him. God, you never thought he'd really do it. But he did, and he's bending over, and his legs are spread just enough so you can see his dick and balls straining against the fabric.

When, for a few moments, you don't say anything, Morty straightens himself back out and turns to face you, this time looking you in the eyes. His face reads angry, embarrassed. At least at first. When he studies your expression, his own softens to one of confusion. You realize you've been staring at him, not saying a word, mouth agape. You still don't really have any words for him, none that you can string together to form a sentence, so you lift your hand from where it rests on the arm of your chair and use your index and middle finger to motion to him. _Come here._

It takes a few more minutes, after Morty sinks down onto your lap, for you to regain your composure. You couldn't have imagined it'd be so fucking perfect. Morty, with that little outfit on, looking so fucking timid… The very comprehension of it all threatened to make you lose it.

"R-Rick, can I take this st-stuff off now?" His soft voice interrupts your thoughts. He's fucking with you. He has to be, he's sitting on your lap with your cock throbbing against his ass, for fuck sakes! In one swift movement, you grab his little hips and thrust your bulge hard against him causing him to let out a surprised yelp.

"No Morty, you gotta. You gotta keep it on, Morty," Digging your fingers into him, you rock your hips against him, closing your eyes and letting out a low growl. You can't see his face, but you could imagine how hard he was blushing. As you stand, he stumbles off of your lap and turns toward you, mouth hanging open just slightly, seeming unsure of what to expect. As you move closer toward him, bodies pressing together, he's forced backward onto your desk, spreading his legs to accommodate you.

"God," You mutter, looking him over and drinking in the sight once more and squeezing your hand between the two of you, cupping his bulge. "You're such a little. Such a slut, Morty. How would I fuck you here on my. Here on my desk if you took the outfit off, come on now." His face blushes an even deeper shade of crimson as you lean forward, mouth meeting the soft flesh of his neck.

"Aw geez, Rick. I-I'm not a slut!" He protests, wiggling a little against your hand which is squeezing and stroking his cock through the thin fabric of those panties. You grumble out a laugh, tracing your tongue down the goosebumps that had formed all over Morty's body.

"Oh, really? You're not, you're not a little slut? Huh, Morty?" Your hand moves to slide his panties out of the way, wrapping around his cock and stroking the length of it. Morty's eyes shut and he tips his head back, sighing and letting out a little whimper. "You're not a slut making noises like that?" You move your other hand to your mouth, getting your fingers a little wet before moving them downward, tracing Morty's entrance and pushing lightly against it. He's really moaning now, arching his back and wrapping his arms around your neck. You laugh a little and even though you both know you're only teasing him, he tries to defend himself anyway.

"N-N-No Rick," He sputters out, the sound of his breathy moans driving you fucking crazy. "I'm n- I-I-I'm not…" The poor thing can't even get the words out as you push your fingers inside of him, searching for that _spot_. Instead, he's clawing at your back with a fistful of your blue sweatshirt in one hand a fistful of your grey hair in the other, head pressed to your shoulder as he moans in your ear. You can't help but press yourself into him, using your full body weight against him as your fingers fuck him, other hand now moving to unbutton your pants, fumbling clumsily with the zipper. Before you can even get your own cock out, you're panting and moaning along with him, grinding and bucking your hips. Just as you get it in your hand and pressed against him, so deliciously close to being deep in him, he cries out.

"R-Rick, no! W-Wait!" You pull back off of him, biting your lip in frustration. You want him too fucking bad to stop.

"Wh-What is it, huh? What. What is it, Morty?" You're gritting your teeth when Morty pushes his hand back against your shoulder, sliding his feet onto the ground. He doesn't look up into your eyes when he speaks.

"I-I wanna r-ride you, Rick." His voice is quiet and breathy and he brushes past you, leaving you all the room on the desk to lay back on it as he climbs on top. Never, even in your fantasies of seeing him all dressed up in a little skirt, did you think you'd get to see him quite like this. And it's fucking incredible. He strokes your cock a little, squeezing it and getting himself into position over you.

"Holy fuck," You can't hide the desperation in your voice. "Y-You are a slut, Morty. A dirty. A dirty little slut." This time, he doesn't protest your claims and instead sinks down onto your cock. His face is contorted with an expression that you can't necessarily identify as either pleasure or pain and your cock is throbbing so fucking hard as he slowly starts riding it it that you're honestly worried that you'll cum and it'll all be over. But he goes nice and slow, eliciting sounds from you that you didn't even know you could make. He has his head tossed back and his eyes shut, but you can't take yours off of him, reaching up under that little skirt to stroke him. The tighter you squeeze his cock, the harder he rides yours until he cries out and you feel a hot, wetness on your stomach.

"A-Ah! Rick!" When he starts cumming, you can't help yourself. Grabbing onto his hips with both hands, you press hard up into him, a feeling so intense you see stars as you cum inside of him. One of the best things that had ever come of Morty agreeing to drink with you had been the time before last when he confessed how much he loved when you came inside of him. Of course, this was another point to add to your 'reasons you should drink with me' argument. Morty, all but collapsed on top of you, lets out a soft whimper of disapproval as you grunt, trying to- as gently as possible- pull out of him.

"Well, Morty. How did your little. Your little classroom f-fantasy work out for you?" You attempt to slip out from underneath of him, leaving him laying on the desk in that little fucking outfit, as you zip up your pants.

"Well… Well geez, R-Rick, I-I _really_ don't think I'm gonna be able t-to pay attention in class..."


End file.
